


Hell is Round the Corner

by Lila82



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lila82/pseuds/Lila82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Clarke's last night on earth and her entire world is Bellamy Blake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell is Round the Corner

The tide turns in a wave of Raven’s blood.

It ebbs and flows, slips from her body to the uneven rhythm of her heartbeat. 

Clarke knows Finn is yelling and Octavia is crying, but she can’t hear any of them over the thunder in her head. The Ark is gone, the comms too, and her mother isn’t whispering in her ear.

It’s just her and Raven’s life is in her hands and those hands won’t stop shaking. 

“You can save her, right?” Finn pleads, eyes bright with tears for the other girl he loves. 

Clarke blinks back her own tears and manages a nod because she doesn’t trust herself to speak. Wordlessly, she gathers her tools and sanitizes her hands and peers down at Raven’s ashen face.

She’s a pretty girl, even as the life literally seeps out of her, but the sickly gray of her skin only makes it harder for Clarke to swallow down the bile. She did this once, but she didn’t do it by herself. She takes a deep breath and reaches for a knife, lets her fingers hover over the homemade scalpel. 

“Clarke? Are you okay?” It’s Jasper, peering at her through the halo of the torch he’s holding, and she forces another nod as her fingers slip down to grip the table’s edge as her eyes slide closed. 

Then, there’s a hand on her back, just the brush of fingertips along the curve of her spine, but she hears the words in his touch: _You can do this, I believe in you, we all believe in you…_

Clarke opens her eyes and picks up the scalpel, takes Raven’s life into her hands.

Bellamy stays with her the entire time.

 

* * *

 

Raven survives, albeit with a tenuous grasp on life. 

Her breath is ragged and her skin is hot, but she’s not losing any more blood and Clarke’s neat stitches seem to be holding her together. She was lucky – clean entry and exit wounds – but Clarke knows the hard part is ahead. The wound has been packed with seaweed, but Jasper taught them all a valuable lesson: there are few things more agonizing than waiting.

“How is she?” It’s Bellamy, and his voice is deep and rich but impatient too. They’re sitting ducks the longer they wait.

“It’ll be touch and go for a while,” Clarke says, doesn’t look up from cleaning the blood from her blade.

“But we can’t move her,” Bellamy clarifies, cuts right to the point. 

Clarke lays down the scalpel and clasps her hands. Her skin is sticky, smeared with blood, and she doesn’t know which part worries her more: the blood caked under her fingernails or now normal it all feels. “No,” she finally says. “We can’t move her.”

Bellamy sighs, leans against the wall and watches Raven sleep. “It’s your call, Princess. What do we do?”

Clarke wants to cry. She has blood on her hands and Raven’s alive. She did her part. She doesn’t want more, but she stopped having choices the moment she fell from the sky. “We fight,” she says instead, watches the light bloom in Bellamy’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for the camp to mobilize. 

Clarke stands at his side, but can’t miss the collective outtake of breath when Bellamy explains the change of plans. 

They might listen to her but they’ve always belonged to him.

 

* * *

 

Medicine is her weapon. The others stockpile guns and spears, but Clarke boils water and makes seaweed poultices, sharpens her knife and untangles more wire. Mostly, she rests her cheek on Raven’s chest and listens to the steady thrum of her heart. 

She was jealous of her once, angry with her too, but it’s bone deep resentment that sets in now. 

They’re all going to die in the morning and there’s nothing to do but wait.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy ducks his head in. “How is she?’

Clarke sits up and pushes her hair back from her face. “There’s no change.”

He steps fully inside, shifts his rifle away as he moves closer to the patient. “You think she’ll make it?”

“Is it terrible of me to hope she won’t?”

Bellamy’s jaw tightens. “Please tell me this isn’t because of the Spacewalker.”

“Finn? No! But closing my eyes and never waking up…that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Princess – ”

“We’re going to die tomorrow,” Clarke says. She finally says the words out loud and they weigh heavily in the air as her mouth trembles and the tears finally start to fall. 

Bellamy’s arms come around her, his hands moving in soothing circles across the expanse of her back and he croons in her ear, “Shh, shhh, Clarke, it’s going to be okay.” 

It’s not going to be okay and they both know it, but she lets him hold her all the same, hold her up when she can’t do it herself.

His eyes are hidden in shadow when she pulls away but his hands are steady as he brushes the tears from her cheeks. “How are you so calm?”

He tilts his head and the ring of bruises that wreath his throat are visible in the dim light. “I should have died once today. I’m not letting it happen again.”

She reaches up and brushes her fingertips over his skin. He doesn’t say anything, but he does swallow thickly as she touches him. “It’s all my fault.”

“It’s both our faults,” Bellamy says. “We made mistakes, but we’re in agreement here. We stay, we fight…” He smiles, so brilliant that it almost hurts her eyes. “We’re gonna make it.”

“Well, if Bellamy Blake says so, it must be true.” 

She smiles back, a small tentative one, and Bellamy’s only widens. It’s easier to face the end when she has that smile to guide her way.

 

* * *

 

Finn returns with more blankets and they disperse into the night.

There’s no anger, only mild embarrassment and a whole lot of awkwardness. He won’t meet her eyes as he settles at Raven’s side and Clarke quickly follows Bellamy into the darkness.

It’s a beautiful night, chilly but not too cold, and the sky is clear so she can see every star twinkling above. Clarke knows better than to make a wish, but she appreciates a moment of beauty before the end.

“Heading home?” Bellamy asks but the interior of her tent is the last place Clarke wants to be. She doesn’t want her last moments of freedom spent in a cage.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” she tells him and starts for the south wall. There’s a crack there, it’s how Octavia used to slip out, and she wants to see the butterflies before it’s too late. She takes half a step before Bellamy’s fingers clamp around her elbow. 

“You know the rules, Princess. No gun, no leaving camp.” 

“I’m just taking a walk…” she starts but he knows her too well and he doesn’t loosen the vise he’s made with his hand. “I want to see the butterflies.” He smiles again, a different kind of smile, and it’s enough to make her smile back. “It’s not a euphemism, Bellamy. I might…” her words catch in her throat and she takes a deep breath, finds her voice. “This is it, Bellamy. This is it for everything.” 

His eyes darken in the moonlight and she thinks she sees a shudder ripple across his chest. He drops his hand and adjusts his rifle. “Let’s go.” 

For a moment, she thinks he wants her to take his hand, but she settles for walking at his side.

 

* * *

 

The butterflies are unlike anything Clarke has seen before. They float and glide, shimmer and glow, and there’s so much beauty it makes her chest hurt. She knows her history, the truth of her people, but it’s hard to remember when the world is so effortlessly lovely. She can’t believe that in a few hours, a place so magical will be beyond her reach.

They’re lying side by side in the grass, not touching but close enough to feel his heat through her ragged clothes. 

“Bellamy?” 

“Hmmn?” he asks. He’s not asleep, but Clarke knows he’s been overcome by this place too. His world is blood and bombs and imminent death. Moments like these are few and far between. 

She wants to let him enjoy, but she’s her father’s daughter. She can’t stop the flow of questions any more than she can stop the Grounders. “Why are you here?”

He shifts, draws his arms up and under his head, and keeps his eyes trained on the sky. “Where else should I be?”

“With your sister? Miller? Your army of worshipers? You practically have a harem. All these people and you choose me.”

“I don’t have a harem.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, because he’s totally ignored her question and focused on the least important part. “You can’t be serious. Our first few days on the ground, I saw a different girl leave your tent every morning.”

“So you were watching me.”

Clarke can feel her cheeks flame, the telltale blush creeping down her neck and staining her chest, and she’s grateful for the darkness hiding her reaction. “Everyone saw.”

Bellamy shifts again, rolls to his side so he’s only an inch or so away. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“I wasn’t judging.”

“No, you were asking. And I’m telling. It’s not for me.”

She can feel his eyes on her, bright and burning in the moonlight, but she isn’t brave enough to meet his gaze. “Why not?”

He breaches the space between them, drops his hand to rest on the curve of her hip. He presses and she turns, rests on her side so she has to look into his eyes. “I want someone who sees me.”

His fingers tangle in her hair and his jaw is scratchy against her chin, but then his mouth is against hers and he’s warm and solid and _alive_ and it might be the end but it’s the beginning too. 

They roll together so she’s sprawled across his chest, thighs blanketing his hips as he groans into her mouth and his fingers tighten in her hair. “Clarke,” he says and it comes out scratchy and rough and it’s the only way she ever wants to hear her name again.

 

* * *

 

He holds her in the hours before dawn, as the butterflies circle overhead and his heart beats a steady rhythm beneath her ear. 

"Are you ready?” he asks, his deep voice rumbling under her cheek. 

Clarke knows she’ll never be ready, that an hour or fifty years will never feel like enough, but this is her life. Bellamy’s might have ended the moment his sister was born, but her father’s secret shaped hers. She doesn’t have choices, but she has this.

“Whatever comes, we face it together.” She takes his hand and squeezes tight, hopes she’ll never have to let go.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author’s Note:** Oh, man. I didn’t want to get sucked into another fandom, particularly this fandom, as there are more plot holes than my new Ikea sieve and a lot of yelling, but also really great female characters. And Bellamy Blake. And together, well, this happened. Title courtesy of Tricky. Enjoy.


End file.
